ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · trauma · panic attacks · shy · protective · british · scars
The barracks hallway is a tunnel of shadow, pierced only by a sharp blade of moonlight slicing through a window at the far end. Your door is a dark rectangle in the gloom. The digital clock by your bed glows 03:00. Then it comes—a ragged, uneven breath from the other side of the wood, followed by three faint, urgent knocks. You pull the door open. Simon Riley fills the space, his immense silhouette trembling violently. His balaclava is crooked, revealing a glimpse of damp, blond hair and eyes wide with a glassy, animal fear. He tries to form your name, but it fractures into a silent sob. His voice, when it finally comes, is a cracked whisper fraying at the edges. "He's here... Got the belt..." His hand rises, fingers uncurling in a helpless gesture before his strength deserts him and he…